


Without You

by hesitantSoup



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon Divergence - Battle of Hogwarts, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-05-26 12:29:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesitantSoup/pseuds/hesitantSoup
Summary: In a last ditch effort to end the war, Hermione Granger decides to give Tom Riddle a glimpse of his own future in the hopes that he will change his past. (WIP)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, so bear with me and I should get the hang of it. The first chapter is just a preview- hopefully I'll be able to develop and work on it in the coming weeks

Tom furrowed his brows in irritated surprise as he was tugged into an empty classroom. Wrenching his arm free, he whipped around to glare at the unfamiliar witch who had dragged him, without any sense of propriety, into the dark room. 

“What is the meaning of this?” He sneered in derision. “That’ll be fifteen points from-“ He paused, his angry gaze distorting into an uncomfortable and almost unrecognizable confusion. At that thought he grimaced, Tom Riddle was never confused. But who was this girl? Darting her eyes around the room, waving her wand as she silently cast spells, until finally her deep golden eyes landed on him. He couldn't make out any distinct features in the dim light, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to recognize her in better lighting either. 

“If you know what’s good for you Riddle, you’ll shut up,” she muttered, still conducting magic with her wand. Light slowly made is way into the room and Tom realized he was in the Come and Go Room.

Interesting, he thought, seeing as he had been far from the seventh floor and on his way to potions at the time of this little detour. He turned his focus back on the witch, and was surprised to note that she looked rather ruffled. She was wearing some fitted muggle clothes that were, in a word, grimy. There were dark stains and rips she hadn’t bothered to fix alongside scrapes and scratches scattered across her face and- her arm. 

Carved into pale flesh was the beginnings of a word: M-U-D. Tom didn’t have to be a genius to know what that meant. His scowl deepened. “You have no right to lay your hands upon me,” he chided, in an almost playful tone, although he didn’t bother concealing the true darkness behind his words. A cruel grin tugged at the corner of his lips in anticipation for one of his favorite curses. “and such an offense should never go unpunished—“

“Silencio.”

Her audacity, more so than her spell, rendered him temporarily mute as she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Tom quickly countered it, nonverbally of course, and consciously suppressed his rising ire, nevertheless he took several threatening steps towards her, closing the distance until he could easily reach out and grab her. 

“How dare you-“

She cut him off again, raising a hand to stop him in his tracks. “If you want to achieve your goal, you need to go about it a different way,” she stated in a flat tone, although it seemed she was carefully picking her words. After a calculated pause she continued. “Your horcruxes will only take you down a path of madness.” 

He nearly balked. “You have no idea the path I am on,” he determined, recovering after a moments pause and making his mind in that moment to keep an eye on this witch who he was certain he had never encountered before. 

Using her eye contact to his advantage he delved into her mind, only to find strong walls in place, keeping him barred from gleaning any useful information about her person. He emerged, shocked that she had withstood his violent assault on her memory. Aside from a slightly shaky inhale, she showed no signs of breaking. So he tore back in, searching for any chinks in the wall surrounding her thoughts, memories, and intentions. once again he found none, and retreated. She watched him silently, as though she had anticipated each and every one of his moves. He hated it. 

“Who are you and why did you drag me in here?” he demanded, scrutinizing the girl from her unruly curls to her battered trainers. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

The girl huffed out a laugh, “I’m just here to give you a glimpse of your future, but by all means, continue on your way to class.”

She was beyond strange, her light tone was strained, and her strength was masked by an air of defeat. True, he didn’t buy into his Knights’ views of purity to the extent that they did, but if her scars held any truth then she was the lowest of the low. And yet she could keep him out of her head. Tom was intrigued. She had potential, but, looking at his timepiece, he found that he didn’t have time. 

“Accost me again and I won’t bother wasting my breath to explain myself,” he murmured in a low voice before turning on his heel and making his way to the door. He opened it with poise and stepped into a very different hall than the one he’d been taken from moments prior. The portraits were vacated, tapestries torn, smoke and dust filled the air, and massive chunks of the wall had apparently been blasted away, leaving rubble and stone scattered across the floors that had, only a moment before, been filled with bustling students. 

In the three minutes he had spent inside the room, Hogwarts had seen a war.


	2. Getting Acquainted with Oneself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione takes Tom to the Great Hall. Tom makes new friends.

“What have you done?” he demanded, turning in the doorway to face the witch who watched him with an unreadable expression. 

“Actually I can say with confidence that this,” she stated, rather pointedly nodding to the demolished hall behind him, “is all you.” The girl looked pleased at his momentary loss of words, and, appearing to make up her mind about something, she began heading for the door. 

He kept his reeling emotions in check as he turned to look back out of the room while he processed the information. This couldn’t be possible— well— it shouldn’t be possible, but clearly this witch was someone out of the ordinary. She didn’t seem to be afraid or infatuated, as nearly all the student body was. She wasn’t in uniform, or even in the typical muggle fashion. Yet she possessed magic, knowledge of him, and knowledge of their surroundings. She was an anomaly, and he intended to uncover her secrets. 

She stepped around him and into the hall, unconcerned with the destruction surrounding her. After a few paces she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve caused?” she asked.

Tom was growing agitated at her composure. His need for control and understanding of the situation were the only things propelling him towards the source of his frustration. He stepped out of the room with clenched teeth and made his way to walk with her. Once he reached her side, she gave a half nod and began down the hall. The building was a skeleton of the castle he’d been walking through only moments before. Entire walls had been knocked down, doors broken down or blown off their hinges, windows shattered.  
After walking in silence for several minutes, Tom realized that the infuriating girl had no intentions of striking up a conversation. “You have a name, I presume,” he began, trying to determine his best approach for gleaning information.

“Yes.” Her breezy and dismissive answer only served to agitate him further.

“Care to elaborate?” he prompted, keeping himself in check as they turned down one of the main hallways. He realized they were headed towards the Great Hall.

“No. Although I advise you keep quiet unless you find torture enjoyable,” she stated simply, stopping abruptly and pulling out a folded piece of fabric from her back pocket. The witch glanced up at him as she shook the shimmery material out. “Sorry, I meant being tortured.”

Tom ignored her acerbic words and instead paled at the sight of an object he’d only ever read about. “Is that an invis—”

“You’ll have to crouch,” she interrupted callously, throwing it over herself and holding the edge out in a gesture he quickly realized meant come and get under this invisibility cloak or you’ll regret it. Quietly clearing his throat, he complied, ducking under the cloak beside her. She stiffened as the fabric settled around them, and he took offense at first, wondering where this stranger had gotten her fervent dislike of him. Her awareness of his horcruxes was unsettling to say the least, he supposed she felt even stronger about the matter. 

As they approached the Great Hall, she cast disillusionment and muffliato charms. “If you haven’t already figured it out, we cannot be seen,” she said in a low voice. “There’s an initiation being held in the Hall. The remaining students are being pitted against their peers; those who survive are branded with the mark. He’s absolutely perverse.” 

“Who is this man?” Tom ventured slowly, already guessing at the answer with an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. 

She turned to look him straight in the eye. “He’s you.” 

He nodded, interested to see how his plans had worked out in the future. This Mudblood obviously had issues with his methods, but it seemed, from his perspective, that he was relatively successful in his efforts. He was powerful, and feared for it. He had followers, and would only accept the strongest. 

The destruction of Hogwarts was unforeseen, maybe his plans to teach wouldn’t work out as he hoped the would. Tom could admit that this future seemed rougher than the glorious age of new magic he had always imagined. But he had power and recognition, so how “perverse” could he truly be?

Together they stepped into the Hall. Tom ignored the stench of blood and tortured screams in favor of scanning the black robes and ornate masks for a glimpse of his future self. These men were his Knights, he realized, making an effort to keep the pleased expression off of his face. Beside him, the witch watched with a clenched jaw. Her eyes scanned the crowd; she was apparently looking for someone too. Taking in his surroundings, Tom noticed the rows of bodies lining the walls: many students, and just as many adults. As his eyes made their way across the room he searched for a leader. 

It wasn’t until his eyes caught sight of a pale and serpentine face at the head of the crowd that he started to understand what this girl meant. The man, if he could even be called that, was addressing the group, calling forward the next two students who would duel. He and the witch made their way around the perimeter of the Knights, but his eyes were locked on the speaker. 

Suddenly, through the crowd, through the cloak, through the charms, their eyes met, red against silver, and Tom felt a tug in his chest. This was his future. “It seems,” Tom’s future self hissed, “we have an unexpected guest.”

Tom’s blood ran cold as he felt the tug again, sharper than before. The witch beside him began to move, resorting to pulling him along when he didn’t budge. But it was no use, Tom’s feet were rooted in place as the crowd parted in front of him, and Lord Voldemort began walking towards him. The girl’s grip on his arm was shaky as she tried to get him to go, but he refused. He glanced down to her and gave a brief but resolute nod before pushing her away. Free of the cloak, Tom dispelled the charms and turned to face himself, fully visible. 

“We’ve been busy,” Tom said, eyes locked once more onto the red hued gaze of his future self. Once again he felt the strange tug at his sternum.

“Indeed we have,” Voldemort agreed, “although I must admit I am curious about how you came to be here.”

Tom had his occlumency shields up against Voldemort’s intrusive prodding as he used his magic to reach out and feel for the mysterious girl who had brought him here. He pushed the thought aside when he couldn’t find her immediately and gave himself his most winsome smile. “Don’t you remember?” he asked.

Voldemort looked at Tom with slanted eyes, suspicious as the memory refused to make an appearance in his mind. “I can’t seem to be able to recall,” the dark wizard hummed, moving closer. “Refresh my mind?” He extended his arms for Tom with an almost sinister smirk.

The younger man put on a mask of indifference, hiding his disdain as he quickly stepped around the monster using his name. “I’m sure it’ll catch up with you in a moment,” Tom shrugged, making his way into the circle of dark robes. “In the meantime, I’d like to meet my Knights.”

As he looked among the masked group, Tom used his magic to feel for the witch again. He could tell that he was stronger than his future self, both in mind and magic. That fact alone was unacceptable, not to mention whatever horrible mistake he’d made along the way to change physically. The pale skin, the snake-like face, it wasn’t immortal as he’d always hoped; it wasn’t even human. His future self was less than human. All he needed was to get as much information as he could about his obvious failures in order to ensure avoiding the same disappointing future. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” Tom asked the cloaked group, turning to scan the faces and masks. Malfoy, Parkinson, Lestrange, Rowle, the pureblood magical signatures were easy to pick out of the group. In the center of the ring of Knights, uncloaked and unmasked, stood a younger wizard, one of the students forced to duel, if he was to believe what the witch had told him earlier, but something didn’t add up. Suddenly a girl was pushed into the circle across from the boy, a Nott he realized. Turning back to the girl he frowned, her wild hair and golden glare were unmistakable; it was the witch. If this Nott was as reliable now as Thoros was in his own time, then Tom couldn’t afford to lose him, plus he was decidedly not finished with the intriguing little witch who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. 

“Nott,” he addressed the boy directly before turning back to the girl. “And who might this be?” Tom glanced at his future self who was still standing across the room, watching him suspiciously.

“Potter’s Mudblood,” came the rasped answer.

“Her name,” interrupted a new voice, “is Hermione Granger, and she’s ten times smarter than you’ll ever be.” Tom lifted an eyebrow as a ginger boy shoved his way to the front of the small bunch of remaining students and scowled.

“A Weasley, I presume?” The wizard began, a cruel grin spreading across his smooth features as he turned to the Knights who chuckled in response. “How terribly predictable of you; why don’t you take miss Granger’s place then?” he prompted, causing the Weasley boy to gape and splutter in a manner most unbecoming.

“Ah, Tom,” Voldemort began awkwardly. “It hardly seems wise to put pure blood against pure blood, traitorous as the one may be we simply cannot afford to—”

“My apologies, it seems that in my extensive and most draining travels, certain aspects of our cause may have become, in a word, muddled,” the younger version stated diplomatically. “Perhaps I should retire, and we could reconvene tomorrow? I think you’ll find that my suggestions are quite suited to your tastes.” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to strategize our next steps in the morning,” Voldemort murmured, considering it.

Tom smiled. “Excellent, Malfoy—” He paused in surprise as two men stepped forward, Abraxas’ son and grandson then, “Both of you take care of the remaining students, I’d like a catalogue of names ready for the morning. No more of these feckless duels.”

“Yes my lord,” they bowed in agreement and set to work while Tom made deliberate eye contact with the witch, Granger, before turning to face himself. 

“Tomorrow, I’ll need to know what has happened. Who is this Potter? Why did we destroy the castle?” Voldemort opened his mouth to respond but Tom held up a hand, cutting him short. He spoke in a low voice, as though imparting the most secret of conspiracies. “I’ll explain my travels if you haven’t managed to remember by then, but now, I need rest. It was impossible to fully parse the extent of my exhaustion, lest I appear weak in front of the Knights, but I’m really feeling as though I may collapse.” 

Voldemort nodded sagely, poorly concealing the upward twitch of his crooked lips as he began plotting against his past self. Tom wanted to roll his eyes at his own paranoia and weakness, but he had a role to play, and if it meant gaining the trust of his future self then so be it. In such close proximity, they could both feel the tug of their shattered soul, like metal shards attracted to an invisible magnet. But Tom backed away, feigning ignorance and making his way to the dungeons. He needed to have a talk with the mysterious Miss Granger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I've basically been working on this nonstop all weekend, hope you like it! So far I've only really explored Tom's perspective, I'm not sure if I should get into Hermione's or just have her share what the reader needs to know with Tom as the story progresses; let me know if you have an opinion! I was actually so shocked by the initial feedback so thank you for giving the story a chance! { find me on tumblr at @ bbeatitudee }


	3. Meeting of the Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Hermione have a little chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the long absence! I rewrote this chapter a bazillion times, and then I went out of town... Life is crazy! Also I realized I never had a disclaimer... Is that still a thing I need? Obviously I don't own the characters... But this plot is original! Okay, enough rambling, and enough exclamation points, I hope you enjoy!

Tom had one thought as he made his way into the Slytherin Common Room: he had failed. Well, he paused to consider, not necessarily, he had yet to do anything, had yet to make any choices. He had an advantage, should he choose to return and live a different path— or— a new thought struck him, and the corners of his mouth pulled up into a pleased smile. He could simply take over this time. He could be the hero, the conqueror of the evil Lord Voldemort. After all, no one except Dumbledore and apparently this Granger girl seemed to truly know the full story. There were his Knights to consider, true, but he’d stared into the eyes of a madman, and he knew that “Voldemort’s” hold on them was tenuous at best; fear was never useful as a long term insurance of loyalty, and it seemed as though that was all Voldemort had over them. But how to win them over? That was just one of many questions bubbling up in Tom’s mind as he paced the room, laying his cloak across the back of a dark leather sofa before moving to stand in front of the glass separating the dim room from the green water of the Lake.

He needed support, and answers; perhaps the Nott boy, his mind eagerly supplied as he remembered the dark hair and pale complexion. True, he wasn’t as striking as Tom, but in a way, the wizard was reminded of himself. Underestimated at first glance, perhaps slighted in some way, most likely by a father, he supposed, recalling the rigidity of Thoros’ father in his own time. 

Tom felt disgusted, recalling the inhuman face he’d had no choice but to acknowledge as his own; he had to prevent that outcome— that failure. He needed to find the boy and act, quickly, but first he needed answers from—

“You weren’t supposed to be seen,” her voice cut across the room, hardened, strained, and he smirked, turning to face the mess of brunette curls and flashing gold eyes. He hadn’t been sure if she would seek him out after the stunt he had pulled in the Great Hall, but he was struck briefly, by the thought that she truly was a little lioness, what with her mane and poorly concealed rage: Gryffindor indeed. 

He observed her for a moment, getting a feel for her magical signature. It practically thrashed in the space around her, sensitive, angry, powerful. He felt it thrumming in the air, pulsing with her emotions. She was conflicted, about him he realized as he fixed his own expression into a stoney mask. After waiting another moment he deigned to reply, “Well it wasn’t as though you made much of an effort to keep me from revealing myself.” He shrugged and took a lazy step in her direction.

She exhaled slowly, and Tom inspected her more closely as her guard briefly dropped; he shoved his consciousness into the tiny chink in her occlumency shields and dove into her mind. Almost immediately she forced him out, but he’d seen enough. A boy, dead in her arms. A war, fought fruitlessly. A life, lived slighted by the two worlds she was suspended between, never truly fitting into either. She was tired. She was exhausted. And now she glared at him, impenetrable walls back in place.

“I couldn’t risk being discovered, it was bad enough I had to personally retrieve you and bring you here, as though it would fix things,” she paused in her tirade, shaking her head bitterly. “It was the only option, he said it was the only option,” she muttered to herself, staring blankly at the stone floor. “It didn’t matter though because you still brought attention to me— why?” She inquired, raising her eyes to meet his. 

“How else was I supposed to learn your name, Hermione?” He replied with an easy tone, relishing the way her shoulders tensed and her eyes narrowed at him as her name rolled off his tongue.

“You didn’t need to know my name, Tom,” she flung back venomously, her magic bristling at his proximity. He took a moment to get a feel for the way her magic lashed out at his own probing signature before deciding to take their conversation in a new direction.

“Who is Potter?” He asked calmly, casually, indifference seeping into his words as he watched with calculating blue eyes. She reacted predictably to the sudden turn in subject: eyes widening, lips parting in surprise, pulse stuttering; he could sense it all.

Almost as quickly as her shock had taken over though, she appeared to remember herself and reassemble the fortified facade he had initially been faced with in the Room. “He’s none of your concern,” she determined coldly, although Tom could see her swallow thickly, struggling to maintain her firm and assertive tone.

“Who is he,” he repeated, losing patience for the witch’s sentimental theatrics. Her rampant emotions were irritating, grating on his nerves as her magic acted in kind, buzzing anxiously in the air, crackling against his own powerfully dark aura.

“Someone compassionate, and brave, and loyal, and foolish, reckless and—“

“Your lover?” He interrupted with a quirked brow, ending her messy emotional spiral before it became worse, but Tom couldn’t miss the way her magic stilled ever so slightly at the memory of this individual. He couldn’t miss the way she closed her eyes, as though trying to hold on to every last recollection.

“My brother,” she answered in an almost whisper before taking a breath to compose herself more fully. “But to everyone else, he was their ‘Chosen One,’ ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ But it shouldn’t matter to you at this point, he’s dead.” With that thought, she crossed over to sit on the edge of an emerald velvet settee. He observed her, fingernails digging lightly into the upholstery as she attempted to calm her swirling emotions.

“Was I the one who—“

Hermione’s eyes cut up sharply to his. She met his gaze without hesitation and spoke in a strained but clear voice, “Yes, you killed him—” She took a deep breath and her tone evened out as she continued, “but you don’t have to Tom.”

The wizard frowned at the witch whose eyes had begun to shine with a glimpse of what he supposed was hope. He didn’t bother hiding the disdainful sneer as he spoke next, “You mean to say, you’ve done all of this: dragged me into another time, shown me my terrible future, and lectured me on my carefully formed plans, in order to send me back through the Room so that I can live a different life where I don’t kill some reckless, idiotic boy?” 

“It’s not just for Harry,” she attempted to placate, peering up at him with wide eyes. She didn’t back down as she continued, “The Ministry is in shambles, your Death Eaters are on the verge of breaking the Statute of Secrecy, the wizarding world is being destroyed; it’s chaos.” She stood, impassioned by her own words. “And surely,” she began, her tone full of confidence, “surely you don’t want to turn into that.” She waved her hand almost casually at the door, a gesture most certainly meant to signify that she knew what his exact feelings were on his future self. “These ‘carefully formed plans’ will only take you down a path of insanity and failure. You’ve seen it yourself.”

The little witch had a point, this version of Voldemort was not at all what he had imagined for himself. He recalled his new plan, only just conceived and realized that the situation was more than perfect for him to carry it out. “But Hermione, I’m here now, thanks to you, why not stay?” His lips curled into a twisted and cold smile as she opened her mouth to argue, but he continued, “Why not form a new path altogether? Take advantage of the chaos? The circumstances seem perfectly suited to my ends, if I just seize the opportunity you have so graciously set at my feet.” With each statement he stepped closer and closer until she was forced to sit back down on the settee. Tom leered, eyes gleaming in the eerie light, “I’ll lead the wizarding world into a new era, of stability and order. A new regime, a structured regime,” he inhaled, breathing in her discomfort and rising fear; her confidence was dwindling. “My regime.”

She in turn took a breath, shaky and on edge at the thought of his machinations, “You’re mad.”

“Well yes, I suppose its as you said: somewhere along the way something went wrong. Otherwise I wouldn’t have become ‘that’ as you so elegantly put it. But I wouldn’t be alone in my endeavors, Hermione,” his sweet tone washed over her and he reached out to wrap an unruly curl around his finger, tugging it lightly.

His grin turned even darker as he watched her lips part in opposition, “You’re going back to your own time and that will be the end of it. I want nothing more to do with you.” Her words were spoken quickly, adamantly, and she stood, pushing back against his overpowering presence. They stood, nearly face to face were she not several inches shorter.

“Darling, I don’t believe that for a moment, and that’s beside the point; you don’t expect me to let you go so easily, do you? You obviously need someone to keep an eye on you lest you be overcome by your grief.” He chuckled darkly as her magic crackled in response to his condescension.

“You don’t belong here Tom; you have to go back,” she pressed. “And you have to change.”

“Well I certainly don’t intend to follow in my own footsteps, you have succeeded in showing me the error of my ways,” he conceded and she exhaled, relieved. “But how will I know what decisions lead me to make those errors? You don’t believe I ever intended to become that hideous monster, in fact, you seem to understand my past and my motivations.” Tom saw the revulsion in her expression and merely inclined his head, “What I mean to say, Hermione, is that I need someone who knows my future— or past— or however it is you’d prefer to phrase it—“

“The only thing you’ll be getting from me is a swift shove back through the Room of Requirement,” she stated. 

“Oh please—“ Tom wanted to roll his eyes; she as such a swot, putting on this holier-than-thou act, but he settled for a scoff, “If you didn’t believe I could be changed you wouldn’t have dragged me into that room in the first place. Do not act like you are better than me because your soul is in one place. I know what dark magic feels like, Hermione, and you aren’t as clean as you would have everyone believe.”

He watched, satisfied as she faltered; of course he had been correct, Tom had worked with enough dark magic to be familiar with its magical trace. This little witch had worked with her fair share. So she was curious, passionate, and had been slighted by the world she was born into. In other words, perfect for moulding to his purposes.

“Don’t you dare act as though you know anything about me,” Hermione demanded, drawing her wand and holding it at his chest. Her anger entertained the wizard, and once again he found his lips turning up in a smile.

“Miss Granger, you wear your bleeding heart on your sleeve. You’ve made it impossible not to feel as though we’ve been friends for the longest time,” he teased, nudging her wand aside with is index finger as he leaned closer in order to gloat at eye level, “Tell me does the Weasley know of your proficiencies in the dark arts? Did Potter?” He hissed, backing up as she wordlessly sent a stinging hex at his chest. His magic strained as his temper flared at her insolence, “You little-”

“You need to return to your own time,” Hermione repeated firmly, pushing past him and standing across the room at a much less intimate distance. 

“And you need to realize that that isn’t going to happen, I’ve made my decision and I’m staying,” Tom countered with a sneer. He was done putting up with this self-righteous, stubborn victim. He wanted to push her, see how she would lash out, perhaps draw out her dark magic. She was obviously resilient, this weak front that she was putting up was infuriating. “You brought me here, darling, and you have no one else to blame but yourself.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tom knew she was furious. He watched with raised brows as she processed and silently fumed while trying to form something of a rebuttal. “Now, if you’re quite done floundering for a response,” he started, glaring, “I have more questions.”

Crossing her arms in a defiant sort of resignation, Hermione nodded. “Fine.” 

He gestured to the sofa, but she opted to glare at him instead. Rolling his eyes, he began his questioning. “Who else knows about my past?” 

She sighed, obviously not wanting to direct her train of thought towards anything other than his slow and painful demise. Finally she deigned to reply, “How would I know that?” 

Her cheek sent a surge of anger through his veins and he grit his teeth to keep his magic from lashing out at her. “Who are you working with,” he ground out instead.

“No one you would know, most of them are dead anyways, your followers saw to that.”

Her non-answers were driving him mad, but he pressed on, “What was the turning point,” he began, pensive. At her blank look he continued, glad she was finally going to have to think of a real answer, “I am not a fool Hermione; I need to know what turned me into that thing out there, and I will prevent myself from falling down the same disgraceful path.”

The brunette balked, golden eyes wide, lips parted, as though she hadn’t actually thought him capable of reason. Tom suppressed a sneer and looked down at her rather pointedly until she composed herself and cleared her throat.

“You actually want—“ He cut her off with another haughty look and she nodded, “Right. Well it was Dumbledore’s guidance that led Harry, Ron, and me to the horcrux hunt last summer.“ He rolled his eyes at the thought of his old transfiguration professor manipulating the girl and her friends into doing his dirty work. The only consolation was the satisfying suspicion that the wizard was dead now. His magic swirled slightly as something in the back of his mind began buzzing, but he forced it to still, he needed her to trust him, and asking for her thoughts on the situation seemed his best bet. “Ron” and “Harry” may have been close friends, but from what he’d seen of her thus far, he seriously doubted they appreciated her wits as much as they should have. 

He wished she would get to the point but he simply nodded, waiting for her to continue. “I learned as much as I could about you and your past, from Harry, mostly you two had this connection… But before the hunt, before his death, Dumbledore had called me aside to talk about a new theory— something he hadn’t confided in Harry— a backup of sorts. He said that-“

“Hermione I want your opinion, not the imbecilic daydreams of that sorry excuse for-“ He paused, furrowing his brows as a sudden wave of pain wracked his body. “Something is wrong,” he muttered, gripping the back of the settee where she had been seated moments before. Although, he thought through another wave of pain that nearly brought him to his knees, with the way she’d flitted about the room, he supposed perched was more appropriate verbiage. She was like a finch, golden and flighty, and right now she looked as though she was about to bolt at his sudden change in demeanor. He shuddered as another shock of pain blossomed in the back of his skull; it took another second before his vision focused and he could see her clearly again.

Drawing her wand, Hermione scrutinized him. “What do you mean?” She asked.

“He’s remembered,” Tom groaned before collapsing to the floor. He watched as Hermione tore her gaze from him and looked up in alarm as someone entered the room. He caught a glimpse of a dark swirling cloak and polished shoes before his vision darkened completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any errors, I was struck with inspiration and couldn't stop typing for the past two days, I could barely wait to post this. Should be starting the next chapter soon, so stay tuned! Your support is the best, all of the comments and reviews are SO sweet! Questions/comments/saying hi are also totally welcome on my Tumblr! @ bbeatitudee Thanks again for reading!
> 
> xoxo  
> Soup


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